Hearing Voices - MYG x Reader
Notes: Phew, so this took a little while longer than I thought it would to finish up. And it’s so long! Approximately 6k words and this is the longest thing I’ll ever write e v e r. Also, there’s so much angst packed into this baby, I’m sorry. Please leave a review, likes and reblogs are nice and all, but I’d love to know what you thin of it! Enjoy!
TW: mentions of blood, hospitals. The reader is mute, and my bad attempt at describing sign language.
Yoongi would like to consider himself lucky. Well, sort of. There were quite a few things he’s noticed this summer: Namjoon finding his soulmate had set off a chain reaction of sorts, with Hobi and Jin-Hyung following closely behind. Hobi had joked that it was fate when Taehyung announced the news after returning from Jin’s beach house, and Yoongi had scoffed quietly to himself. He never had much faith in fate, he always knew that finding his soul mate would be harder than anything he’s ever done in his life; things weren’t exactly easy for him.
At the age of fifteen, everyone gets a soulmark that would eventually lead you to the person that you’d spend the rest of your life with. Complete bullshit in Yoongi’s opinion. Even after all these years, he was still a little bitter about it because he didn’t get one. He remembers how excited he was the night before his birthday; he stayed up all night just waiting in front of his mirror. Jin-Hyung told him when he got his two years before, there was a slight sting, and that he should be prepared for that, but the sting never came. Yoongi was more than disappointed and he cried for hours because he just couldn’t understand why he was being left out.
He called Jin crying, babbling incomprehensible words of his plight. It took his mother coming into his room to see what the ruckus was about, a copious amount of hot chocolate and soothing words before he calmed. He avoided Jin no matter how much he asked about it, embarrassed and fearful of the reaction of his friends. Only days after, when Yoongi had finally told Jin - clearly and without the tears - that no, he didn’t get his soul mark, and yes, he did cry about it, was when Yoongi was sure he was losing his mind.
The little voice in his head no longer sounded like his own, instead, it was a light voice that sounded like an ocean of honey he would gladly drown in. At first, he resented the voice of the girl in his head; it was utterly distracting. It didn’t help that some of his thoughts didn’t belong to him at all. He’s learned to live with it, though it took a lot of time getting used to, with instances of the voice in his head yelling about one thing or another at odd hours. The boys had laughed at first, and trying to make light of his situation, they joked that it may have been Jimin, which made him feel better somewhat.
He learnt a lot of things about her that way too when her thoughts would filter into his mind unchecked. She wasn’t very fond of crowded places, which he was extremely happy about because he wasn’t either. She had a brother who was a couple of years older than her and in her words, a massive shit head. He wondered, when he was younger, if he could speak to her this way, and tried to do so concentrating really hard; thinking of little words or abstract things. He’s never gotten a reply, so he just learned to accept it the way it was. As for finding her, he wasn’t exactly sure he knew how with nothing but her voice to go by; it was difficult.
Yoongi leans against his couch with a sigh, reaching with his foot to turn the electronic fan to face him directly. He hated the summer; it was too hot, even in the early hours of the morning. Too many of his off days were spent laying on his couch in the suffocating heat with both his electronic fans facing him. He hated the way the heat would make him sweat like he’d ran miles despite doing nothing but sitting around all day. He always enjoyed going to work on days like these, where he could lounge around the studio in the comfort of the large AC units and enough coffee to keep him awake for the rest of his life.
But today, Yoongi was robbed of both those things. His off days came as a double-edged sword. Yeah, sure, he loved having nothing to do but relax, and though grateful for the break, he was back to wallowing in the heat of the summer day. He was also out of coffee, which he realised after he was abruptly awakened by his alarm at the ungodly hour of six-thirty this morning. He always forgot to turn his alarm off and would wake up too early and left struggling to fall back into his peaceful slumber.
He sat contemplating the drive from his small apartment to the mini-mart, and if getting up was worth it. Staring at the ceiling of his apartment, thankful that he didn’t have anyone living above him; the quiet was nice. His fingers fiddled with the soft cotton of the sheets he’d tangled around his legs in his sleep, having forgone the short trek to his bedroom the night before to watch a rerun of his favourite show. A glance at his watch confirmed the time as the sun cast golden streams through the crack in his sea-blue curtains, shadows pulling away after clinging to surfaces all night.
He wondered briefly what his friends were doing, not an uncommon thing, as he usually thought about them at some point during his day to day when something that felt a bit like longing tightened his chest. There was no doubt at all that neither Jin-Hyung, Hobi or Namjoon had the time of day for anyone considering that they now had their soulmates to take their time. As selfish as it was, Yoongi just wanted a bit of normalcy returned to his routine. But no, it wasn’t that, and Yoongi knew damn well he had a green-eyed monster growing on his shoulder for the past month now. It was easier to pretend to be happy for his friends than show how lonely he was when everyone had met up at the end of last month.
The unspoken no girls allowed rule had been broken then when the trio had brought their mates with them to their get together. Better to meet their friends while they all had the time to be at the same place for a couple of hours than share a few words over the phone. Yoongi liked them, really he did, they were sweet. He liked Siege especially, who dotted on Jaehun whenever she got the chance. She, Meijeun and Nari had become fast friends and left the boys to their own devices for most of the night, much to Jin-Hyung, Namjoon and Hobi’s disappointment.
Siege had waved at him, the short sleeve of her blouse unable to hide her soul mark that matched Jin’s, running down the length of her arm. He observed his boys who’d laughed a little harder and smiled a whole lot more with the girls there and Yoongi couldn’t bring himself to dislike something that made them so happy, and for the first time in a while, he left early that night. He regretted it when he came home to an empty apartment and a daydream of someone waiting for him. And he continued to dream still, as he stared at his ceiling now, of mornings like these when the warmth of the day had just begun to settle. Of the voice in his head that belonged to a person he’d yet to meet, and how nice it would be if they laid on his too-small couch, close enough so that the threat of falling off wasn’t there.
He dreamt of stolen kisses and secret, small moments that he would cherish forever. Hoped still for something that was far beyond his reach.
He left his apartment a little later that morning, after carrying his blanket back to his bedroom and dragging a heavy bag of the week’s trash down the stairs of his apartment complex. There was nothing much for him to do today besides his run to buy the coffee he was craving and he decided to walk the few blocks than waste gas.
The small mini-mart was owned by an elderly couple who Yoongi had known for the three years he’s moved into his apartment. They were always nice and Mrs Kim would sneak him a chocolate bar every time he came - never mind his protesting - and ask if he’s found someone yet. She always seemed more upset than he was every time his answer repeated itself but offered him encouraging words that he’d hold onto for the sake of hoping. She’d bring up her great-niece every once in a while once Yoongi’s answer doesn’t change, talking about how sweet she was and how good she’d be for him. A conversation that always made Yoongi just a little bit shy. Mr Kim would be stocking the shelves and talking to him about cars, or the weather, pretending he didn’t see his wife pushing another chocolate bar into Yoongi’s hand.
He’d talk about things he knows would distract Yoongi from his wife’s invasive questions about his love life - or lack thereof - knowing that even if Yoongi didn’t show it, the question always bothered him.
Yoongi ended up buying more than he’d gone for, getting a few fruits and some prime cut meat that Mr Kim said he was saving for him. He left Mr Kim to finish his stocking, not wanting to take up any more of the man’s time, picking up some things he thinks he might need at home.
“Oh Yoongi dear, you should meet my great-niece. She’s coming in a couple of minutes,” Mrs Kim was smiling at him, swirling on the rotating stool behind the counter at the front of the store.
“Oh leave the boy alone, Jiwoo.” Mr Kim tuts disapprovingly, hobbling over to Yoongi with a frown, “Never mind her,”
Yoongi abandoned his small cart to help Mr Kim with the box he was struggling to carry, the man thanking him saying that his back just isn’t what it used to be. He packed scented candles in a neat line on an empty space on the shelf when Yoongi waved off his words with a hand. “She goes on and on about you whenever her niece comes by, I’m sure she’s tired of hearing about you by now,” Mr Kim chuckles, giving him a smile that made it impossible for Yoongi not to smile back. “You should get going before she starts planning your wedding,”
Yoongi couldn’t help his laugh, a sad sound really, that made Mr Kim level him with a look that made him feel worse for himself. They part with somber smiles and a pat on the arm from Mr Kim, who shared a look with his wife over Yoongi’s shoulder. Mrs Kim was noticeably quieter when he carried his things to the counter, a quiet apology on her lips when she packed his items into white plastic bags. Yoongi left with a heavy weight on his shoulders and his mind far away, distracted only by a girl almost treading his toes with the wheels of her bike in her haste.
He watched her for a moment, as she hopped off her bike, leaning it against the post outside the mini-mart. She spared him a glance, looking apologetic, before stepping inside. Yoongi felt a bit invasive and unsure why he stood there staring at her longer than he should have to be considered decent, as she skipped around the counter to hug Mrs Kim. Must’ve been her niece, he thought, before making his way back to his apartment.
Yoongi was struggling to get his keys from the deep pocket of his black jeans, not at all surprised to find Jungkook and Taehyung sitting on the floor outside his door. Their unannounced visit was something common - they live an hour away and more often than not they’re in his apartment poking around his fridge asking what he was making for lunch, those vultures.
Jungkook helped him with his bags, allowing him to get the silver key chain from his pocket with ease. Jungkook was complaining about his summer project and his need to find a model for pictures as he ran a tattooed hand through his hair in frustration. Taehyung splayed himself out on Yoongi’s couch, face first, his question about lunch - which was expected - muffled by the throw pillows.
“You know, Hyungs are really happy these days,” Jungkook’s words had come when they settled in the living room, mouth stuffed with kimchi fried rice and hands busy with a canned coke. Yoongi realised that it was a topic that seemed to be coming up a lot today, voiced or otherwise, and he found himself randomly thinking about Mrs Kim’s great nice whom he met in passing. The thought was fleeting and didn’t linger long enough in his mind for him to ponder, vanishing as quickly as it came. Yoongi couldn’t help but agree though, and he said as much, and changed the topic, fearing that his emotions would show knowing well that even though Jungkook had occupied the space on the floor next to his legs, eyes glued to the TV; he was perceptive.
“How’s your project going, Kook?” Yoongi’s question earned a laugh from Taehyung and he nudges Jungkook with a sock-clad foot. The latter groaning and swatting at the offending limb a second past his involuntary jerk and almost choking on a sip of coke.
“Yeah Kook, how’s it going?” A teasing tone from Taehyung had Yoongi curious and Jungkook covering his ears. “There’s this girl he wants to ask to model for him but he’s too shy,”
“I’m not shy,” Jungkook says, shoveling food into his mouth and Yoongi doesn’t doubt it was just him trying to hide his embarrassment and remembers a time when Jungkook was thirteen and wouldn’t even look in a girl’s direction. “She hates me.”
“I doubt that,” Yoongi was quick to offer comfort at the sound of the youngest’s trepidation, running a hand through Jungkook’s hair, “Have you two talked?”
“The most they’ve said to each other was ’hi’ and then spent the next fifteen minutes avoiding eye contact,” Taehyung rolls his eyes, “It was so painful to watch.”
When lunch was had and the kitchen cleaned, Yoongi joked that Taehyung and Jungkook only loved him for his food when they said they had to get going, but he packed them the leftovers anyways. And Yoongi was alone in his apartment once again, sighing as the quietness he normally craved seemed to trap him and taunt, and he wished he’d asked for the boys to stay a little while longer.
The day passes quicker than Yoongi would have liked - in a way all off days goes – and he found himself actually laying in his bed and not on the couch when the moon had pushed the sun out of the sky and the stars twinkled endlessly. The sudden need for sleep despite having barely done a thing today tugged Yoongi’s eyelids relentlessly, and he tried to fight it, not wanting to be awake earlier than he should be in the morning when it’s barely after eight. He scrolls through his phone for no other reason than distracting himself, and would often catch himself dozing off with the periodic closing of his eyes to rest for a couple of minutes before he’s at it again. Eventually, he gave up after his phone slipped from his slack fingers to land heavily on his sternum, leaving a dull ache as Yoongi places it under his pillow to hear it when it goes off in the morning.
It only takes a moment before he’s completely out, dreaming of a field of flowers that only bloomed so pretty in the Spring, and minute snippets of a conversation shared like secrets and laughter that sounded rich and sweet like honey. The slow sway of grass in a soft breeze he felt more than he heard and the scent of plum blossoms and strawberries and being so happy in the moment, and the face of a person he couldn’t remember for the life of him when he woke the next morning. The feeling of soft hands on his skin, un-calloused and tender, gentle in a way that makes Yoongi’s chest burn with longing as he stared at his ceiling. He thinks nothing of it, doesn’t give the dream a chance to settle at the forefront of his mind as he got ready for the day.
He kept himself busy enough - distracted enough, at work, greeting Sohyun at the receptionist desk with a wave and her coffee order that he memorized. It was enough for him, loading up tracks and speaking through a microphone that broadcasted through the radios of anyone listening in that morning. It was easy enough not to think too hard on what his dream likely meant, that his mind was now trying to help him cope with the deep depths of loneliness he’s been feeling for a while now. Trying to comfort him with the voice in his head but unable to put a face to a person he’s never seen.
But of course, it wasn’t distracting enough, and he calls Jimin during his break, sitting in the break room under florescent lights and nursing what must have been his third coffee for the day. He asks how he’s been, trying his best to ignore the laughter of children in the background of Jimin’s call. No doubt he was too busy to even be on the phone right now, with having his hands full with his and Hobi’s summer children program. He could hear Hoseok’s disembodied voice coming from somewhere over the noise, gentle, but firm with his request for silence, not differing from the way he’d speak to his son when he’d gotten just a bit out of hand.
“Are you okay? You sound a bit…lost.” Jimin’s voice was soft, his question innocent in all its intent, the noise in the background suddenly gone at the near soft click of a door, and Yoongi weighs his words carefully. “Is it bothering you again?”
Though his group was close, a makeshift family that Yoongi was glad he’d found when he did, Jimin was someone he confined in regularly enough for him to know off the bat when something was nipping at Yoongi’s heels. He’d usually rather not burden anyone with his issues, preferring to deal with them in his own way that honestly wasn’t healthy because he’d never talk about it and instead kept them bottled and kept on the highest shelf in the furthest reaches of his mind. He’d talk to Jimin when those bottles would rattle and break and spill and consume on his best days and leave him standing in the shards with bloodied feet on his worst.
“I’m fine,” If Jimin heard the crack in his voice, he didn’t say, but understood his silent plea for a better distraction than what his day provided. So they talked for the fifteen minutes Yoongi stole, and Jimin told him about the kids who came for their program and how cute they were with their barely coordinated movements and their attempts to follow the moves he and Hobi taught them. And Yoongi laughs genuinely for the first time in a while, reminding him that the program was his idea and it wasn’t long before Jimin had to get back to his work and Yoongi to his and they ended the call with Yoongi feeling a little bit better than he had fifteen minutes before.
He leaves work when the sun had reached its peak in the sky, and Yoongi found himself driving past his apartment complex without really knowing why. He sat in the car, engine running and staring at the Kim’s mini-mart with some confusion and wondered why he was there. He spied the bike of the girl he’d seen yesterday, leaned against the same column, silver and gleaming under the high noon sun and he got out of the car. When he got in, relishing the cool blow of the air conditioning, he found Mr and Mrs Kim in their usual places.
Mrs Kim sat behind the counter, a surprised, sort of confused smile on her face, because yes, Yoongi comes by, but never two days in a row. And he realised he was just stood there, blocking the entrance like an idiot before he waved at Mrs Kim, shuffling awkwardly on his feet. He wondered if he should just leave, because he really came for no reason at all, when the girl from yesterday came out of room that said ‘Employees Only’.
“Oh, Y/n, dear. Come meet Yoongi!”
Yoongi suddenly remembers every time Mrs Kim would bring you up in conversation, as your eyes met his and you smile. An action that seemed just as embarrassed as Yoongi felt, though it may have been his awkwardness when he returned it. You dusted your hands against the material of the black tee-shirt you wore - printed with some American rock band - you look between Yoongi and Mrs Kim for a moment. The elderly Mrs Kim looking like a child on Christmas ready to open their first gift, and Yoongi watched as you raise your hands, the limbs moving in a flurry of odd hand gestures: your right palm sliding over your left followed by the index fingers of both hands meeting before you point at him.
“She says it’s nice to meet you,” Mrs Kim supplies helpfully, and Yoongi wasn’t sure if he should talk to you directly or have your aunt relay his words; his mind was unusually blank right now. “She can hear you as well as I can,”
You suddenly snap your fingers, grabbing Yoongi’s attention as you turn to your aunt, hands moving again. He doesn’t know sign language, never had the need to know it, so he stood there feeling a little awkward as you two silently communicated for a while before Mrs Kim passed you a note pad and a pen. You wrote something down and turned it to him.
’Hello :) Sorry I almost ran you over yesterday.’
He dreamt the same dream again that night. When sleep came unusually easy, Yoongi found himself in the same garden as before, the edges of his vision fuzzy and dipping in and out of focus. Standing before a well trodden path, white carnations and forget-me-nots bowing at the edges, and a girl with flowers tucked into her hair, her face blurred like the edges of his dream.
He found himself smiling, his hand reaching for hers. She laughed softly and Yoongi could’ve sworn angels were singing, and they sat together on a blanket among the flowers and the bees. The ends of the cloth frayed and aged, in the warmth of the breeze, with Yoongi’s head in her lap and a soft humming.
He didn’t want to be anywhere else.
Over the next couple of weeks, Yoongi did his best to visit when he could, which was most days after his shift if he was working during the day or on his off days when he had nothing better to do. He hadn’t realised he had developed a bit of a crush when he bought a book that teaches sign language on a whim, or when his heart would beat just a little bit faster when you would smile at him with a endearing tilt of your head.
His vivid dreams had become more frequent despite him not feeling as lonely as he had before, but never really changed; he still couldn’t remember the face of the woman he dreamt, much to his frustration. His soul mate was still as far away from his reach as she could be, but funnily enough, that didn’t bother him as much as it should have.
Along the way, you taught him a couple of things when he’d struggle with the hand movements, and Yoongi was eager to learn so that you would be more comfortable and wouldn’t have to write down everything you wanted to say. He would bring treats for you some times, little things from the bakery across the street from Big Hit radio after you’d let it slip that you liked sweet things. And you’d both sit in the break room of the Kim’s mini-mart and share secrets over coffee and jam filled tarts. Though it took a while, Yoongi was finally able to talk to you easily without the use of your note pad that was filled with little scribbles of a one-sided conversation.
Mrs Kim would give him a knowing look whenever he came by, still giving him a chocolate bar that he’d share with you while you were working. Yoongi found himself wishing he could hear the sound of your laugh when he’d tell you a joke and he’d receive a smile and the silent shake of your shoulders, or when he’d still stumble over the motions of his hands trying to tell you something. It was easier to text you some times, when he was laid up at odd hours when he couldn’t sleep and late night bled into early morning, giggling to himself when you’d trade childhood memories.
He met your brother, one day when he went by, and found you adorably pouting at a man that watched his approach wearily. His name was Minho, who had at least two feet on Yoongi and more tattoos than Jungkook would ever dare to put on his skin. Minho watched his and your interactions with enough closeness for Yoongi to get awkward about it. He seemed more a father than brother when he narrowed his eyes at Yoongi placing a hand innocently on your lower back at one point. He lightened up though, once Yoongi talked about music, and they bonded over the shared passion for the art.
The boys were always quick to comment and tease, at times when he was constantly glued to his phone, or smiling to himself without prompting. They were desperate to find out the reasoning behind his ever happy mood, and he was busted by Jimin and Hobi who just happened to be passing by one day when he was leaving work. They refused to be on their way, even when Yoongi had expressed his annoyance as they tailed him into the bakery and exchanged glances when the cashier already knew what he wanted. They refused still when they insisted on knowing where he was heading in such a haste and why he was so ready to be rid of them, and with them not budging, Yoongi had no choice but to let them tag along.
He was nervous, because Hobi was so easily excited and word vomitted whenever he met someone new and liked them. Jimin was so quickly affectionate, quieter than Hobi with his advances but so quick to be friendly; he didn’t want to overwhelm you, or god forbid make you uncomfortable.
You accepted them with smiles and charmed them easily despite your lack of vocal communication. The two hadn’t shut up about it for a while afterwards, talking about the girl who was oh so sweet and had stolen Yoongi’s heart without ever having to say a word.
It was the first filtered words in his mind for the first time in a long time and Yoongi felt his heart sink to somewhere by his feet. He’d almost forgotten what the voice in his head represented, that his soul mate was very much there even though he couldn’t find her, and the guilt that followed was something that ate away at him. So he distanced himself, despite the pain in his chest when he would go straight home after work, or found himself loitering outside the bakery across the street.
When you’d text and ask if he was alright, never once pushing to ask why he didn’t come around any more, and Yoongi felt his heart break when he’d leave them unanswered. This felt way worse than when his soulmate was looking at someone else and calling him cute and her thoughts of such filtered into his mind. It felt worse than the guilt he felt that came with the realisation of him entertaining the idea of liking someone that wasn’t the owner of the voice in his head.
As the summer days cooled, and the subtle chill of the air forebode the coming of Autumn, Yoongi woke up one morning in a panic. Snippets of a sweet dream that had quickly gone sour: images of the garden he’d often visit riddled with dead flowers and the scent of a storm buzzing in the air. The absence of the woman that would accompany those dreams, and the echo of his own voice calling a name only to receive no reply. It refused to leave his anxious mind even as he settled back into the cool sheets of his bed, brows furrowed and on the cusp of confusion.
The barely there sunlight peeking through his curtains made him rise with a quiet swear, hands fumbling under his pillow to grasp at the smooth surface of his phone. He pulled it from under his pillow, wincing as he checked the time; he’s slept through his alarm and now he was late for work. Shit, Yoongi thought, and his breath caught in his throat the second he inhaled; the voice in his head was his own.
Now, really panicking, Yoongi scrambled out of his bed, tripping on the comforter on his way. He didn’t know what to do, but he throws on the sweat pants and sweater he wore the night before, barely locking his door before he was racing out of his apartment. Yoongi was never one to panic, not really, he was always level headed, even in situations that would warrant some sort of unrest. Though right now, with his thoughts that ran rampant in his head too fast for him to catch and hold onto, and not in the voice he’s grown to live with was enough to get him moving.
He didn’t know why, but he took off running down the street, his frantic mind only allowing his feet to take him where they guided. The chill in the air biting at the exposed skin of his cheeks and stinging his eyes as he ran the couple of blocks towards the Kim’s mini-mart. He almost tripped over his own feet, coming to a halt at a scene that made his heart hammer so hard he thought he was going to have a heart attack right there on the spot. For a moment, he’d already forgotten his own dilemma.
An ambulance sped by, going the way he came. Minho was shouting loudly, being held back by an officer who looked like he was already so done with the events. Another man in handcuffs, drunkenly yelling swears back at him, and a silver bike, thrown to the side without a care. The wheel was broken and spinning, crimson standing out against the gleam of it.
Yoongi moved just quick enough to stop Minho from lashing out, and possibly getting arrested for assault.
“What happened?” Yoongi asks when Minho had pulled out from his grip. He allowed him the moment he needed to gather his thoughts, and even after the man could barely get a word out. He was shaking, Yoongi noticed, and he tried to stay calm for his sake alone.
“He drove right into her.”
Yoongi hated hospitals, the scent of medicine and disinfectant always a little too harsh on his nose. He also hated the feeling of helplessness he felt when Mr and Mrs Kim had arrived, an unintentional witness to the tender moment as Minho tried to calm his aunt down with soothing words. They left not long after, with Minho promising to call once he heard from the doctor. A pregnant silence was between the two men as they just waited, uncomfortable with the thought of talking at the moment.
Yoongi tried to keep himself distracted, after alerting the studio that he couldn’t be in today. The odd silence and lack of filtered thoughts barely bothered him right, it was something for later if he ever left the hospital. Minho was still rightfully upset, his leg bouncing in place in a show of nerves.
“Thanks for coming with me,” He’d said when he calmed some, his restless movement coming to a halt as he turned to face Yoongi. “She really likes you, you know.”
Yoongi felt his guilt return and he looks at his hands, he felt as though he didn’t deserve that, not after ignoring you for weeks on end. He did miss you though, he missed you so much that the thought of you would hurt, but he did it for a reason and that reason was enough for him to fool himself. He offers Minho a tight smile, one which he returned.
“Did she tell you though?” He suddenly asks, and Yoongi was immediately curious, and a bit confused.
Minho stared at him for a moment, as if trying to see if he was joking or not. Yoongi watched him expectantly, eyebrows raised as he waited for him to continue. The man looked visibly uncomfortable after a moment, straightening in his seat and avoiding his gaze. Yoongi tried to ignore the awkwardness that settled around him and favour of prodding Minho for answers.
“Uh…” Minho coughed, looking up at the ceiling, “It’s not my place actually…just wait until she wakes up and ask.” He sighs, muttering something under his breath before he stood, “I’m gonna get coffee, I’ll bring you some,”
It was a while until the doctor came, when Yoongi was clutching the life out of his empty disposable paper cup, and he was able to breathe again. It could’ve been way worse than a concussion and a broken wrist, and after Minho had went in, Yoongi was free to do the same.
Once Yoongi stepped into the room, he realised it was a place he’d never want to see you in again unless absolutely necessary. You smiled at him - a little dazed - a bandage around your head and a pale blue cast on your forearm. He sighs as he sat, hands rubbing against his thighs out of nervous habit.
“Are you okay?” He was careful to keep his voice low, in case you had a headache, which he was certain you did. Minho told him that you’d hit your head pretty hard. You nod once, the action barely noticeable, a certain look in your eyes as you watched him and Yoongi knew you wanted to ask.
“I’m sorry,” Was the first thing he said, staring at his fingers as though they could supply him with the words he wanted to say. He had so much to say, a lot of apologizing, too, for blowing you off the way he did with no explanation. “You don’t have to say anything, alright? I just need you to listen.” He glances at you, but you didn’t seem upset, you just waited, smiling at him in the same way you did when he first met you.
Not knowing where else to start, he started from the beginning. He told you how he didn’t get his soulmark when he was supposed to, and how his heart would try to beat out of his chest any time he saw you.
The words were followed by the tiniest shake of your shoulders that was in sync with a soft laugh that Yoongi had only ever heard in his dream. He froze in his seat for a moment, staring at you and unsure of what he heard. He watches as you reach for a small notepad and pen he hadn’t taken the time to notice, watched as you struggled a bit to write what you needed to say.
“You’re an idiot,” He reads aloud when you turn to page to him, a little offended, and he glared at you without any real malice in the action, the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth betrayed him. “I can always just go to work you know, I’m sure they’re missing me already.”
You swat at his hand with the notepad, rolling your eyes. You pulled back to write again, the cutest furrow in your brow as you did so. 'There’s something I wanted to show you,’ You stare at him quietly for a moment after that, raising your uninjured hand and shaking it at him. You pointed at the silly sports wrist band you wore with your chin, something Yoongi chuckles at because you told him once that you didn’t even like sports but the wrist bands were comfortable. He takes your hand in his own stopping your insistent motion, getting distracted as he ran a thumb over your knuckles.
“You want me to take it off?” Yoongi asks softly, not stopping the movement of his thumb that helped to ground him in this moment. You nodded once like you did before, bottom lip caught between your teeth and looking so excited. Yoongi smiles softly, teeth peaking, and he gently shimmies the fluffy black material off your wrist, movement stuttering just slightly when he caught sight of it. It looked like a tattoo – Yoongi knew better– small, black letters against your skin where your wrist met your palm, familiar but foreign the longer he stared at them.
You were the first to move, writing something in your note pad again, before handing it to him; 'I dreamt you, too. And a garden of flowers.’
For a moment, everything seemed to stand still, the ticking of the clock on the wall loud enough to be distracting. A quietness between the both of you; the deep breath before the plunge. He didn’t understand, why his first instinct was to go to you when the voice in his head became his own – and had remained that way for an hour until you’d woken – why your silent laugh and the sound in his head seemed to match up too perfectly to be a coincidence. He’s hopeful, and maybe he’s a bit stupid for that, but he can’t help himself. Maybe it was fate, that day you almost ran him over on that stupid bike of yours, and Yoongi found himself smiling at the thought. Maybe it was fate that he went back the next day, without even knowing why, and had easily fallen for you.
Maybe it was fate, that he’d found you then, and now, sitting in a hospital room with Yoongi holding tightly to your hand and trying his best not to cry because he’d finally found you. Something he thought wasn’t meant for him, and he kisses you when he found tears in your eyes too.
Yoongi never had much faith in fate, but this was it.
